


Voir Dire

by Deslock



Series: Voir Dire [1]
Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Crime Scenes, Detectives, Genre: Thriller, Mutilation, Serial Killers, Slow Build, Suspense, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-13 05:06:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4508925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deslock/pseuds/Deslock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seasoned Detective Sebastian Castellanos is called to a crime scene of horrific brutality, the deeds of a deranged serial killer. However, this is not the work of the infamous Elk River Killer, and Sebastian’s fears are soon confirmed as the body count continues to mount. </p><p>Joseph pressed his lips into a tight line. “Two different serial killers operating in the one city?”</p><p>“It’s not unheard of,” Sebastian drew on his cigarette, exhaled slowly. “We just have the luck of both ours being sick fucks.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

. . .

“Shit…” Detective Sebastian Castellanos crouched down and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. He scowled hard at the scene before him, his lips pulling back over his teeth. He shook his head. People never failed to disturb him. He stepped back, breathing through his mouth to minimise the smell of death.

“It’s not the work of the Elk River Killer.” Detective Joseph Oda said, joining him. His partner was only younger than him by five years, but Sebastian’s hard lifestyle had aged him ahead of his biology. They had been steadfast friends and partners for years, and though they had opposing personalities, they worked well together. In the past when Sebastian looked in danger of losing his badge, Joseph had reluctantly reported him to Internal Affairs – a move that saved Sebastian’s job. They stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces grim.

“No,” Sebastian agreed. “But we’ve met this one before.”

A serial killer dubbed the Elk River Killer by the media had been operating in and around Krimson City for years, with over two dozen victims already confirmed to their tally. The victims had been meticulously mutilated, the perpetrator profiled as being one man, working alone. Sebastian suspected and feared that a more accurate victim count would be closer to double, if the unsolved missing person cases where anything to go by.

The killer had started murdering in Elk River, a small, respectable lakeside town just south of Krimson city that had approximately 5,000 inhabitants when the bodies started turning up. The population had since decreased by almost a third. The killer had also expanded their hunting grounds; abducting at least eleven from the heart of Krimson City. The signature, though Sebastian hated to call it that, was every victim having surgery performed on their brains – while still conscious.

This newest head-case, however, was just starting out. They had not been ordained with a tasteless media nickname yet, but had claimed two previous victims. That the authorities knew about, at least. Sebastian stared at the bodies before him, victim numbers three and four.

“Officially a second serial killer. The media’s going to be slobbering over this in no time.” He gazed around the dilapidated barn, trying to get a sense of what had occurred here, to work out a reason why this particular building had been selected. He scrutinised the scene.

The woman slumped with her head flung back, held there when rigor had set in, her skin darkening. The little girl in the chair next to her had begun to swell, her skin turning purple. Both faces were frozen in horror, eyes stretched wide. The woman’s manicured fingernails had constricted, gripping the arms of the chair like a lifeline. Sebastian couldn’t help but think of Myra and Lily. He felt rage tremor through him.

Joseph pressed his lips into a tight line. “Two different serial killers operating in the one city?”

“It’s not unheard of,” Sebastian drew on his cigarette, exhaled slowly. “We just have the luck of both ours being sick fucks.” Maybe one of them would do the city a favour and take out the other. Preferably slowly.

“Looks like it was done with a crossbow.”

Sebastian and Joseph turned. Juli Kidman, a new detective recently transferred to Sebastian's precinct, joined them on scene, frowning at the cigarette dangling from Sebastian's lips. Her brown hair was too short to be pulled back into a ponytail as was compulsory on a crime scene to avoid contamination. She observed the bodies with her lilac eyes.

“A crossbow.” said Sebastian, his voice flat. 

“How can you be sure?” asked Joseph. “The bodies haven’t been examined yet.”

“I can just tell.” Kidman offered no further explanation. Sebastian frowned. He was still figuring his junior detective out and almost resented having to train her. He did not sign up for babysitting duty, and he disliked her aloof nature. But she was good at her job, from what he’d seen so far. He turned from her, back to the bodies, scratching his stubble.

Joseph took out his pad, began scribbling notes down.

Sebastian looked from where the bodies were sitting to the empty chair next to them. The rope had been cut away, and the man that had been bound there taken to hospital. He’d been tortured with a red hot iron, salt forced into the wounds.  

Sebastian knelt down again, carefully studied the floor. His partners watched him as he scrutinised the wood, running a latex covered hand over it curiously.

“Seb?” Joseph cocked his head in question. Sebastian remained silent for a moment before standing up, looking thoughtful.

“The killer stood here,” Sebastian faced the bodies, pointing his finger at them. He pulled an imaginary trigger. “First the mother and then the daughter, and from about this height.”

Joseph turned, imagined the scenario playing out before him, frowning when the trigger was pulled. “What about the man?”

Sebastian ignored his partner for now, still visualising the crossbow in front of him. He aimed, stared into the face of the man who’d been spared. “I think Kidman’s right,” he said, dropping his arms. “A crossbow seems likely.” He shook his head. “A fucking crossbow.”

“So, why not the other man, then?” Joseph pressed.

“Good question.” said Sebastian. “Kidman, head over to the hospital. Wait for him to come around.”

“Right.” She turned, heading for her car. Sebastian had tried to spot annoyance in her expression, but she kept her face blank. It was useful in their line of work, but it still annoyed him.

“So, the killer shoots the mother and child,” said Joseph. “But not the father?”

“I don’t understand it either,” Sebastian began to walk away, not looking back at the bodies. “But I’m going to.” Joseph followed him silently, their minds racing with possibilities. Was the killer sending a message? Punishing the father for some previous insult? Sebastian immediately imagined drug lords being involved somehow.

“Detectives,” it was Officer Connelly. They nodded at him in greeting. “Just come from the station,” he said. “Got a name for the guy in the hospital; A Mr Louis Parera, he’s got previous too – Breaking and entering, uh, and robbery. Had to give up a life of crime after a guy he was robbing blinded him.”

Sebastian indicated in the direction of the bodies. “And the other two?”

Connelly’s eyes hardened, as any fathers would. “They’re Mariana and Sofia Parera.”

Joseph paled a little. “His wife and daughter.” They had assumed as much, but it didn’t make the confirmation any easier to hear. He tried not to look at Sebastian. Tried not to let the concern show on his face. It had been three and a half years since the house fire had claimed Lily, Sebastian’s young daughter. Even less time had passed since Myra had walked out on him without a word.

“Anything else?” Sebastian remained unreadable.

“Well …” Connelly scratched his neck. “The last house that Parera broke into was a big one. Ever heard of the Victoriano’s?” They shook their heads. “Well, they’re rich. Like, really rich.”

“Yeah, that would explain why Parera targeted them.”

“Apparently Mr Victoriano caught him red handed. Shot and blinded the poor bastard. But also gave the guy enough of a fright to call the police.”

Sebastian snorted. “A blind burglar who calls the cops on the guy he tried to rob?” That sounded like an awfully bad joke.

“Said he saw things before he was blinded,” Connelly looked uncomfortable. “In the mansion. Brains in jars. Says he could hear screaming coming from the basement.”

Joseph was still fastidiously taking notes. “Did police find anything?”

“Brains in jar.” Said Connelly. “Mr Victoriano works at the old Beacon hospital. The chief of staff verified that the brains were donations for Victoriano’s research, but we couldn’t obtain a warrant to search the basement.”

Sebastian scrunched his nose. “Given the source of the accusation, that’s understandable.”

“You said ‘Mr’ Victoriano,” said Joseph. “Not ‘Dr’?”

“Nah,” said Connelly. “He works under Dr Marcelo Jimenez, though.” Joseph kept scribbling.

Sebastian sighed and rubbed his face. “This is the only lead so far?”

“Yeah, sorry Detective.”

“Guess we should pay Mr Victoriano a visit, then.” he began to stalk away, his long coat blowing behind him. “Joseph, you’re with me.”

. . .

The figure watched the detectives leave the crime scene and unwrapped a candy bar. He was sitting on a trashcan, legs dangling, a bulging garbage bag at his feet. He didn’t sleep much, and didn’t eat anything other than candy. Sometimes the persistent pains in his stomach had him wondering about his eating habits, but it never occupied him for long. He had more pressing matters to worry about, like who he was going to choose next.

He did not enjoy killing people; that was his least favourite bit. It was the build up to death that sent shivers through his body. He always choose multiple victims, it amplified the pleasure he derived from doing what he did. Initially, he’d allowed his victims to go free once he had his fun. But too often he had let his victims live, and too often they informed the police, despite promising that they wouldn’t tell. People could be so rude – it left him no choice. The only logical solution was simply never to leave any victim alive. It was a pity, really.

He breathed deeply through his nose, trembling with pleasure at the memory of his latest deed. The slow destruction of another human being was beautiful, and as he watched the fight leave their eyes, witnessed their spirit slowly dissipate, his own bloomed. He forgot all about his pain in those final moments. He wished he could leave them alive. If he could then he would watch them go about their daily business, a walking reminder of the time he’d shared with them.

He finished his chocolate bar and hopped of the trashcan, letting the wrapper fall to his feet. He hauled his garbage bag over his shoulder, the crossbow within hitting his back with a gentle thump. He hawked up and spat a wad of thick phlegm, black like tar.

The figure smiled as he recalled the screams of the blind man. Louis, his name was. He couldn’t believe his luck. A blind man. He had stared into his victims milky eyes, able to get up close and personal. He liked doing that; touching them. Smelling them. Skin on skin contact always preceding blade on skin contact.

He refused to blindfold them. Refused to hide his own face. That would kill the fun. But he didn’t need to do either with Louis. And so he got to leave him alive – to live with what he had heard; his wife and young daughter screaming and pleading. His world shattering, and then his spirit.

The figure shivered again as he walked down the alleyway, his pain forgotten. His desire quenched. For now.

. . .

Sebastian stared up at the Victoriano Mansion, the blinding sunlight and beautiful, clear sky above failing to lift the gloominess that clung to it. The area was isolated from society, totally excluded from civilisation. It was an old building, one that would look pretty snug in Victorian England.

“Bet the old man’s a fucking stiff neck.” Sebastian pulled out his flask and took a swig.

Joseph consulted his notes, biting his tongue as he always did when Sebastian drank on the job. “The previous head of the house and his wife died in a car accident seventeen years ago. We’ll be dealing with his son,” he read down his pad. “Ruben.”

“Great,” Sebastian snorted. “A rich boy living off of daddy’s money. That explains how he gets to play pretend at beacon with no credentials. Don’t tell me, he donates a nice chunk of dad’s money to the hospital, right?”

“Right,” Joseph pushed his glasses up. “There’s something else though. A fire on the estate killed the Victoriano’s daughter, Laura. Her brother was there, and he received severe burns over most of his body. It was years ago now, but he’s barely been seen in public since.”

“Don’t stare,” Sebastian nodded. “Got it.”

“Seb,” Joseph stopped him before he could approach the main door. “Look … first the mother and daughter, now the Victoriano fire … if this is too-“

“Joseph,” he gave his partner a stern look. “I wouldn’t have returned to work if I wasn’t prepared for shit like this. You need to stop trying to wrap me in cotton wool, this is my job.”

“…Right.” Joseph tucked his note pad away. “Sorry.” Sebastian turned and they approached the entrance.

The door was huge and dark mahogany in tone, the handle polished to a shine. Sebastian knocked, waited. A minute ticked by. “Must take some time to climb down his silver spoon encrusted staircase.” Sebastian knocked again, harder.

Eventually, the door was opened a crack. Sebastian held up his badge. “Ruben Victoriano?”

The man was heavily wrapped in bandages, his entire head and neck covered. He was dressed smartly in a shirt and dark pants, clean bandages also covering his hands. Sebastian thought it would take more than a few decent nights of sleep to displace the dark rings around his pale eyes.

“Yes.” He didn’t blink, didn’t open the door any wider.

“I’m Detective Sebastian Castellano’s with the KCPD. This is my partner, Detective Joseph Oda. Can we come in?”

Victoriano remained as he was. “In regards to what?”

“Louis Parera,” said Sebastian, his impatience evident. “He broke into your home two years ago?”

“I already made it clear I was not interested in pursuing charges.” He made to close the door in their faces, but Sebastian slammed a hand onto the oak surface, preventing it. Joseph swallowed, prepared himself to grab his partner if he got too aggressive.

“It’s not about that particular case,” Sebastian said, leaning on the door. “But we do have some questions for you regarding Mr Parera. Can we come in?”

The man of the manor scowled at them, not used to having people argue back. Sebastian felt the atmosphere thicken. It was clear that Mr Victoriano was not fond of company. Slowly, the bandaged man let go of the door and turned, walking down the hall without another word.

Sebastian and Joseph exchanged looks before entering, gently closing the door behind them. They followed Victoriano into a large sitting room where he stood by the window, his back to them. Arms clasped in front of him. Fine art decorated the walls, and the wooden floor shone impressively beneath their feet. “What do you want?” His voice was low, ravaged by smoke inhalation.

Joseph caught the look in Sebastian’s eyes and answered before his partner could make a rude comment. “Louis Parera,” said Joseph. “The man who tried to rob you.”

“Yes, we established that Detective,” Victoriano turned to face them, though his facial expression remained passive, his eyes burned with irritation. This man did not like people being in his home. “What is it you need to ask that I hadn't already told you're people two years ago?”

“You blinded him.” Said Sebastian, ignoring the question.

Victoriano did not blink. “In self-defence.”

“Where you aware that he was married to a woman named Mariana, and had a daughter named Sofia?” Joseph took out his notebook, ready to jot down any relevant information.

His eyes narrowed to slits. “Why would I know details of that nature about the man who tried to rob me?”

“Answer the question.” Sebastian snapped. He was quickly becoming just as angry as the man they were disturbing.

“No,” said Victoriano. “I didn't.”

“Have you seen Mr Parera since two years ago?” Joseph continued.

“No.” Suspicion flickered over what features were visible. “Why?”

Sebastian interrupted Joseph before he spoke, earning him a look. “May I used your bathroom?”

“No.” Victoriano didn’t even look at him, choosing instead to glare at Joseph. “If you have a point Detectives, please make it. I’m a very busy man.”

Sebastian stepped forward. “Louis Parera’s wife and young daughter are dead. Murdered.” He searched the man’s face, waiting to gauge his reaction.

But Victoriano didn’t react. Just stared. “And I’m a suspect.”

“We’re just speaking to everyone who may have had any reason to hold a grudge against him.” said Joseph, his voice far calmer than his partners. “Mandatory checks, you understand.”

Sebastian made a face, ran a hand through his hair. “May I use your bathroom?”

Silence filled the air for several seconds. Victoriano kept his eyes on Joseph as he addressed Sebastian. “Up the stairs. To your right.”

“Thanks.” Sebastian gave a mock salute, then left the room.

“Can you tell me where you were over the weekend please, Mr Victoriano?” Joseph regarded him, a little uncomfortable with being alone with him. He still hadn’t blinked.

“I was here.”

Joseph readied his pen and pad. “And what were you doing?”

“Working.”

“Do you have anyone that can verify that for us?”

“No.”

“No home help or …?”

“No.”

“Alright,” Joseph scribed the words _‘hostile’_ and ‘ _uncooperative’_ down. “And, do you live alone?”

“No,” said Sebastian, entering the room with a large glass jar that contained a human brain. He had put on a pair of latex gloves. “Got yourself a full shelf of company down the hall, don’t you Mr Victoriano?”

The bandaged man went completely rigid, his lips merging into one line. “How dare you come into my home and touch my possessions without permission.”

“Tell me, what would we find in the basement, then? Because your shitty attitude isn’t helping us believe your poor alibi,” he gave the jar a little shake, the brain clunking off the glass. “Would we find the rest of this guy? Or would we find him in the Elk River?”

“ _Sebastian_ -“

“Get. Out.” Victoriano’s face was darkening with every passing second. “Now.”

“Mr Victoriano, please, we just-“

“I said out,” his gravelly voice rose by an octave. “Both of you. Anything else you have to say, you will do it through my lawyer.”

“Not the first time you’ve said that, is it?” Sebastian glared at him, challenging.

Joseph grabbed Sebastian by the shoulder. “Thank you for your time Mr Victoriano, we’ll be on our way.” He began to tug his partner toward the door. Sebastian dropped the jar onto a nearby shelf, not being particularly careful so that it clattered.

Outside, walking towards their car, Joseph was mortified. “ _Jesus_ , Sebastian.”

He put an unlit cigarette between his lips. “What?”

“We were only supposed to question him, not creep about his house. We didn’t have a search warrant, what if he-“

“Calm down,” said Sebastian, lighting his smoke. “We can get one. The room with the jars in it had something else too,” He inhaled deeply. “Mounted on the wall.”

Joseph squinted at him. “A crossbow?”

“Three,” he blew smoke. “Looks like the rich boy’s a practised shot too. Had trophies for it. I’m going to have him brought in for questioning.”

Joseph frowned. “Seb, the Captain will-“ Sebastian’s cell began to ring. He checked the caller ID and answered.

“What have you got, Kidman?”

She sighed into the phone. “A few things.”

Sebastian got into his car, holding his cell to his ear with his shoulder. “Hit me.”

“Louis Parera had a brother committed to Beacon a few years ago, but he escaped. Apparently Parera went to the police, claiming that he hadn’t escaped but had been abducted.”

“Abducted?”

“Yes,” he could hear Kidman thumbing through papers. “And he was convinced Victoriano was involved.”

“Based on?”

“Apparently nothing more than that he gave him the creeps.”

“I can see why,” Sebastian fastened his seatbelt. “So he didn’t go to the mansion to rob it, but to confront Victoriano?”

“Well, that’s what he claimed. But he had previous for robbery.”

“Alright, keep looking,” Sebastian started the engine. “Good work Kidman.” He hung up. After filling Joseph in and pulling out of the Victoriano estate, Sebastian sighed deeply.

“Miss the simple cases, Seb?”

“Only when I don’t have them.”

. . .

The figure vomited into the toilet bowl, followed by a series of violent dry heaves. He gasped and spluttered, gripping the toilet seat hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He lurched, vomiting again, the bile dark and gritty, like coffee grains. His stomach seized, and he collapsed to his knees, hugging the toilet as he wheezed. When the urge to throw up lessened he sat back, leaning his head against the wall, wiping his filthy mouth with his sleeve.

He found himself chuckling, feeling like the human he was.

There was no power greater than that of dominating another human being. The figure knew that by breaking people, by shattering the illusions and identities that they clung to – by ripping their loved ones from them, he could witness something beautiful. He, a mere human himself, could see what most people would never dare. The slow destruction of a human mind.

How undeniably enthralling people were.

He shakily got to his feet, leaning his weight on the sink to keep himself steady. Sweat coated every inch of him, dark vomit staining his front. He smiled into the small bathroom mirror, his teeth and lips stained black, like his eyes.

“We are all worlds unto ourselves,” he reminded his reflection. “By ending another human being, I am extinguishing a microcosmic galaxy.” He spat black into the sink.

Yes, he did not murder people; he obliterated worlds.

And he already had his next targets in mind.

. . .

“Louis Parera?” The mention of his own name startled him.

“Hi, I’m Detective Juli Kidman,” She would have held up her ID had he been able to see it. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”

“You won’t believe my answers,” Said Louis, shaking his head. “You people never do.” He removed his dark eyewear, revealing his pale eyes, and rubbed his face. He had a faint scar along his forehead and his left eye drooped a little, but he looked remarkably normal for a man who had been shot in the face just a few years ago.  

“I will, if you’re honest with me,” she used a gentle tone to encourage him to cooperate, taking a seat. “I want to help you.”

“I don’t want to think about what happened.” he trembled, leaning into his pillow.

“That’s understandable, but I need you to tell me what you can so that we can try to find the people responsible.” He remained silent. “Please, Mr Parera. Help us catch the people who hurt your family.”

Louis began breathing heavily. His ghostly eyes shifted, unseeing. He was fighting the urge to remember. He was clearly traumatised, unready for this conversation. Kidman checked his heart monitor; the graph beeping rapidly. “Sick,” he said eventually. His voice cracked, the word dragged from him.

Kidman leaned closer. “Sick?”

“His … his breath smelled bad… like sweets and puke.”

“His breath smelled sickly sweet,” said Kidman. “What else? Did he talk?”

“He asked me stuff … what my childhood was like. Asked M-Mariana too … asked how old Sofia was. H-he wanted to know what her favourite toy was.” He sobbed quietly into his hand.

Kidman nodded, but stayed quiet.

“He asked me what I did for a living … asked Mariana what her happiest memory was …. Sh-she said the day we brought Sofia home…” he sobbed harder. 

“You’re doing great Louis,” Kidman smiled softly at him, genuine care in her voice. “How did you get into the barn? Can you remember?”

“No, I just woke up there ...”

“What else do you remember?” asked Kidman.

“Mariana and Sofia.” He swallowed. “They were crying.”

“Did they tell you where you were?”

“No,” he shook his head. “They said that … that his eyes were black, like, the iris – it was black.” Kidman made a mental note of that detail.

“They told you what he looked like?”

“Only his eyes. Black, my Mariana said … she sounded so scared…”

“Do you have any idea who could have done this to you? Who would have wanted to hurt you and your family?” Parera shook his head, tears soaking his cheeks.

Kidman wanted to lay a hand on his, but refrained. “Did he say what he wanted?”

Parera began to shake, his mouth trembling. She knew he was about to lose himself in his grief.

“Why did he do what he did to Mariana and Sofia?”

He turned his head toward the sound of her voice, and whispered softly “Because they were what I loved most.”

A scream suddenly escaped him and Kidman jumped at the pitch. He keened, a horrible, grief-stricken wail as he threw his hands to his head. Nurses pulled back the curtain and hurried in, but Kidman was already on her feet. She thanked them for their time and left, her heart racing. What the hell had Parera heard in that barn?

. . .

Sebastian had barely slept, and it must have shown because the first thing Joseph done when he entered the station was hand him a takeaway cup of coffee. “Long night?”

“It always is these days.” He took a gulp and nodded thanks to his partner.

Joseph smiled. “Got something on Marcelo Jimenez over at Beacon.”

“What?”

“Ten years ago, a patient escaped from the hospital,” he checked his notes, “Simeon Solano. The parents were convinced that Jimenez had something to do with it, said they didn’t think their son escaped.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Sounds familiar.”

“Yeah, but get this,” Joseph brought out a photo-copied newspaper cover. “Weeks after Solano disappeared, his parents were tortured and murdered.” He handed Sebastian the photo copy which read _‘Couple found brutally slain’_ , and they exchanged glances.

“Not the first family to come forward saying their loved ones hadn’t just escaped.” He scanned the paper, thinking of Parera’s brother. “I’m surprised that fucking hospital is still operating.”

“I’m heading over there now, I’ll see what Jimenez has to say.”

“Good work Joseph, keep me updated.” He patted his partner on the shoulder and entered his office, shutting the door behind him.

After sorting through the large pile of paperwork on his desk, Sebastian made a call. He wanted a certain someone brought in. He grabbed a thin file as he walked for the exit, pretending not to notice Kidman’s questioning look. He knew that if she knew what he was up to, Kidman would try to stop him.

. . .

Beacon Mental Hospital was built at the turn of the twentieth century, situated at the heart of Krimson city. The main complex contained an administrative block, some central stores, a recreation hall and the chief of medicine’s office. It was shrouded in dark rumours due to the disappearances, but police had never been able to compile enough hard evidence to shut the place down.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Doctor,” Joseph took the seat before the desk when it was offered to him. “I know you must be very busy.”

“And I appreciate that you are as well, Detective…?”

“Oda,” He flashed his badge. “Joseph Oda.”

Dr Marcelo Jimenez smiled but it was stiff. He was balding and about fifty, his clothes pressed smooth. “Well, what can I do for you today?”

“I have a few questions about one of your doctors,” he paused. “Well, he’s not a doctor but …”

Jimenez sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly. “You’re here because of Ruben.”

“Yes,” he took a mental note of the change in the doctor’s posture. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the Parera murders. Were you the chief of medicine here when Carlos Parera was admitted?”

“No,” he relaxed a little. “My brother Valerio was. I am aware that after Carlos escaped, his brother believed Ruben to be responsible somehow.”

“Can you think of why that is?”

Jimenez smiled humourlessly. “Have you met Ruben, Detective?”

“I have. My partner and I questioned him about the recent murders, he was … unappreciative of our presence.”

“Yes, he always is,” Jimenez sighed deeply, rubbing his head. “I’m going to be straight with you, Detective Oda, because this hospital and the patients I care for here are very dear to me.”

“Please,” Joseph gestured for him to go on. 

“Ruben has been a manic depressive since an early age,” he exhaled, world-weary and too used to questions. “He is truly brilliant; knowledgeable in a vast range of subjects, though his obsessional topics are neurobiology and anatomy. Yes, he owns a sharp tongue and has little time for anything that does not further his research, but he is a genius … he just lacks the qualifications to retain a reputable position here.”

Joseph took notes. “He certainly seems to lack any kind of bedside manner.”

“When he was ten, Ruben was burned horrifically in a fire that claimed the life of his sister, Laura. Of course, you would have seen the bandages,” He closed his eyes. “He never fully recovered. I tried to convince his father to let the boy receive therapy here, but he refused. Ruben was kept locked in the basement, which exacerbated his resentment for other people.”

“That’s horrible,” Joseph frowned, looking up from his notes. “Pardon me for saying but, he doesn’t sound like he should be working with vulnerable people.”

Jimenez gave him a dark look, but then lowered his gaze. “Forgive me, but the boy the man once was remains important to me. I was his mentor before I was his partner, and he … he was something of a son to me. If his mind had not been so tragically flawed by the fire and subsequent abuse by his father, I’m sure that he would have been the finest doctor to walk these halls.”

Joseph chose his next words carefully. “… _is_ he fit to be working here, Doctor?”

“Strictly speaking he doesn’t work here. He advises me, and donates his research findings and his money to further aid the hospital. He has never had free range to wander and treat patients without my authority. That would be illegal.”

“But he has had contact with many of the patients. Certainly, he spent enough time around Carlos Parera to have his brother suspicious.”

“Always in my company,” Jimenez said, a slight edge to his tone. “Ruben’s … _condition_ isn’t debilitating. His periods of lucidity see him capable of brilliant work and methodical, strategic planning. He has achieved in that basement what most doctors could not dream of achieving with the finest medical resources at their disposal.”

“His condition?”

“Come now, such a traumatic childhood would not leave him unscarred. Physically, and mentally.”

Joseph frowned, watched the other man closely. Maybe Sebastian was right. Maybe Vicoriano was someone to look much deeper into. Before he could ask another question, Jimenez stood.

“Listen, Detective, the patients here are safe and well cared for. Yes, our leniency with grounds privileges has led to a few escapes, and as this is a home for paranoia and delusions, some dark rumours have been spread. But I assure you that no ill work goes on here. You have no reason to concern yourself with Ruben, his contributions helped save this hospital.”

He began to usher Joseph out of the office. “Thank you for your time, Doctor.”

“Not at all, I hope you find the man responsible for Mr Parera’s tragic loss.”

Joseph slipped his notebook into his pocket as he walked to his car, pulling out his cell as he exited the hospital. He dialled a number and held it to his ear.

“Yuina,” warmth consumed his features, he smiled like a schoolboy. “How’s your day been?”

“Good,” his wife said. He could hear the sound of her stirring a pot of something. “Lonely without you. Are you working late again tonight?”

“I think so, but I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“No amount of flowers and dinners at nice restaurants is going to replace my husband, Joseph.” She understood his job was important, but it had been keeping him away from home a lot more recently.

He smiled as he got into his car, tossed his notebook onto the passenger seat. “I like to think that it helps. How’s Ami?”

“Still at school, it’s her big race on Monday. Remember you promised to be there.”

“I’ll be there, I always am.” He clipped his seatbelt in. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” her voice turned sweet. It was hard to stay mad at Joseph. “I miss you. Tell Sebastian this three-way marriage isn’t working out for me.”

Joseph laughed. “I will, I’ll see you tonight.” He hung up and started the engine. He thought about everything Jimenez had said about Victoriano, how the man's postured had changed at the mention of his name. He sighed, found himself feeling conflicted with how to think of the man. This case wasn’t getting any simpler, and Joseph was starting to feel the strain.

Well, at least Sebastian was behaving by the book, for once.

. . .

“I’m not answering one question until my lawyer gets here.” Ruben Victoriano sat stiffly behind the table in Interrogation Room One at the KCPD station. He kept his face completely vacant, but still managed to radiate anger, as if his rage could spill out and set the room alight.  

Sebastian sat opposite him, a beige folder in front of him on the table. “If you say so. We’ve already called for him. In the meantime, why don’t we just have a little chat, huh? Displace the hostility between us.”

“You can _chat_ all you want.”

Sebastian put up his hands in surrender. He had dealt with this kind before, built his fucking career on it. Those who thought they could outsmart a seasoned detective, rich kids who fancied themselves better than everybody else because their parents paid for them to attend a prestigious college and drive fast cars.

“Whatever you say, Ruben. Can I call you Ruben?”

“No.”

“Well, we can wait for your lawyer all day. I’ll sit right here until he arrives. I don’t mind, I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Ruben’s eyes flashed in an angry _‘I’ll bet you don’t’_ glare, but he remained silent. A few minutes ticked by. Then another few, until Sebastian leaned back in his chair, tilting it so the front legs left the ground.

“Tell you one thing, this sure beats turning up at peoples houses and nearly having a door slammed in your face.” He scratched his stubbly chin. “And at least when your lawyer gets here, we can get the charges out the way.”

Ruben glowered at him, his pale eye’s vicious. “What charges?”

Sebastian shrugged, dropped the chair back onto four legs. “We’ll wait for your lawyer. You’ll feel more comfortable talking to me then.”

Ruben’s knuckles went white. “You have nothing on me.”

Sebastian shrugged again. “Whatever you say, _Ruben_.” He made a show of looking at his watch. “Sure is taking his sweet time.”

Ruben’s icy eyes were so full of malice that Sebastian had to supress a shiver. If nothing else, Ruben Victoriano was a man with _a lot_ of anger buried deep. He seemed consumed by hatred. “I know my rights, _Seb_. Tell me what you’re charging me with. Now.”

Sebastian bristled slightly at that, but caught himself before he could hurl an insult at the man opposite him. He sat quietly.

“As I thought,” Ruben’s lip curled slightly. “You have nothing.”  

Sebastian grinned. “If you say so.”

Ruben’s hands began to shake in his lap as his fury reached its peak. “Tell me what you are _charging_ me with.”

Sebastian sighed melodramatically, opening the folder with a lazy flick of his wrist. He stared down at it for a long time, feeling Ruben’s eyes boring into the top of his skull. “It says here that, four years ago, you were nearly arrested for threatening behaviour at Beacon Mental hospital.”

Victoriano frowned.

“But that wasn’t the first time, was it? In fact, several members of staff have come forward, claiming that you’ve threatened them. Scared them, even. One patient, a Mr Withers, was so upset when we mentioned your name that he had an episode. Had to be sedated.”

“You have no proof that I threatened anybody.”

“I have witnesses,” Or rather, he did. Dr Jimenez had convinced them to retract their statements, but he didn’t need to tell Ruben that. He stared at the seething man across from him, mimicking his glare. “Tell me, is it Jimenez who sees the majority of that annual donation you make?”

“Are you charging me for donating to a hospital?”

“No,” Sebastian turned a page in the file. “On the night that Mr Parera broke into your home two years ago, you threatened him with a crossbow.” He looked up, straight at him. “That right?”

“He was trespassing on my property.”

“Fair enough,” Sebastian kept his voice even, slowly building up to when he would go in for the kill. “And the screaming he claimed to have heard through the floor?”

Victoriano kept his expression unreadable, not a trace of feeling in his voice. “The only person screaming that night was Parera.”

“When you shot him at point blank rage,” Sebastian nodded. “You get off on threatening people, don’t you?”

“You can’t make accusations-“

Sebastian stood suddenly. “Don’t _fucking_ lie to me,” he slapped the table with an open palm, the sound echoing around the small room. “The people at Beacon are _scared_ of you - the doctors and the patients. Hell, even the chief of medicine went limp at the mention of your name. Now, the guy who broke into your fucking house and told police that he heard screaming – the guy who you blinded with a fucking _crossbow_ – his wife and daughter have been murdered by a crossbow and you don’t know a Goddamn _thing_ about that?”

“No, I don’t.”

Sebastian leaned over the table, shoving his face into Ruben’s, intruding into his personal space and then some. “How many crossbows do you own?”

He leaned back into his chair. “None of your business.”

“No? I could just get a warrant and come count them myself,” Sebastian stood up straight, looking down his nose at the bandaged man, casting his shadow over him. “If you want me and my partner to drop by again.”

The muscles in Ruben’s jaw went taut, the strain on his face making his eyes even sharper. “I have four.”

Sebastian took a mental note of that. He’d only seen three when he had went snooping. “And have you used any of them recently?”

“No.”

“Sure about that?” They watched one another for a long, silent moment. Sebastian stared him down. He saw no feeling there, nothing positive, no warmth whatsoever. There were just two shards of ice stabbed into his sockets, sending chills down the spines of anyone who cast a curious glance at the man trussed up in bandages. Sebastian leaned over the table again, closer this time, getting right into his face. “You know what I think, Ruben? I think that you’re nothing but a-“

The door to the interrogation room flew open. “ _Castellanos_ ,” The esteemed Victoriano lawyer had arrived, looking almost as furious as his client. Sebastian had dealt with him before; he was a wiry Texan who lawyered for most of the cities well-to-do. “Walkin’ all over my clients rights once again, huh? I’m surprised that after ever’thing, ya still have your dang badge.”

Sebastian felt anger rise within him. If there was one thing he hated more than spoiled, rich assholes, it was the suits who defended their crimes. He straightened and walked right up to him. “I can't look at him any more, anyway.” He glared once more back at Victoriano being leaving, slamming the door as he left and walking right into Joseph.

“What the _hell_ are you doing, Sebastian?” Joseph looked appalled, jacket and gloves still on from having just returned from Beacon.  

“That’s what I’d like to know.” Said a deeper voice. They both turned. Captain Stan Machlon looked unimpressed, which was horrifying if you knew how utterly stoic the large man normally was. “Castellanos. My Office. Now.” He turned his massive bulk and marched away. Both Sebastian and Joseph followed him, though Joseph waited outside the office. 

Machlon was a massive black man with a deep baritone, and a stare capable of nailing men to the wall. “Would you like to explain why I’ve got complaints of police harassment piling up in my office with your name on it?”

“Sir-“

“I’m _not_ finished.” The Captain was almost as wide as he was tall, but his fat did not make him any less intimidating, in fact it seemed to add to his presence. Sebastian kept his mouth shut. “I had some southern Lawyer call me 20 minutes ago, talking about raising a damn lawsuit against the department. Can you guess whose name he gave as the source of the issue?”

“Sir,” Sebastian said, barely keeping his own anger in check. “There are too many coincidences in this case. Parera broke into Victoriano’s house two years ago and was shot with a crossbow. Parera claimed to have heard screaming coming from Victoriano’s basement while he was there. And everyone at the hospital where Victoriano works is scared shitless of him. The man’s got a damn crossbow collection at home, one that could potentially be the murder weapon that killed Parera’s wife and daughter.”

Machlon said nothing. Just looked at Sebastian, tired. Fed up with dealing with complaint’s concerning his former number one. He had a lot of respect for Sebastian, had pulled many strings to save his ass back when he went down a dark road, and his heart had broken just as much as the rest of the departments when Lily’s death was announced. But he had to have limits.

As if reading his mind, Sebastian sighed and dropped his eyes to the floor, submitting. “The lawyer has no case for harassment - none whatsoever – and he knows it. He’s just bullshitting.” He paused. “Sir.”

His captain took a deep breathe. “Fine. I’ll deal with him. But Sebastian, if I get one more complaint – any more threats of lawsuits, and I swear I’ll have your damn badge. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” Machlon sat as his desk and began to thumb through one of the many reports littering his large desk. Sebastian let himself out.

Joseph approached him, ready to lecture him, but Sebastian spoke before he could. “It’s fine. The Captain’s not put me out on my ass yet.”

“Yet. Seb,” Joseph licked his lips, looking concerned. “Victoriano didn’t do it.”

“Oh gimme a break, Joseph,” Sebastian grimaced but his partner held up a hand to silence him.

“There’s been another murder. Three, actually. Fresh this morning - while you had Victoriano in custody.”

Sebastian felt dismay creeping up his neck. “Same guy?”

“Same guy. Back to his original M.O; he didn’t leave a survivor.”

. . .

That night, Ruben returned to his inner sanctum, still furious. He paced for some time before heading downstairs.

He dropped the needle of his player onto a vinyl record, the static hissing for a moment before Claude Debussy’s Arabesque No. 1 in E major filled the basement. He smiled softly at the sound, his anger fading now that he was in the safety and comfort of his basement. He prepared to take a tissue sample from the subject still on his table, ready to continue from where he’d been interrupted by that asshole detective at his door.

He always took a sample before beginning surgery.

He thought about Detective Sebastian Castellanos and everything he was going to do to him, once this had all blown over. He wouldn’t use Castellanos’ brain, he would turn it to mush and make him watch the whole goddamn thing.

He sterilised the frontal lobe by searing it with a heated scalpel and the subject jerked, his eyes stretching wide. He had went into shock when his skull was cut with the circular saw. Ruben removed the small tissue sample with another scalpel and his forceps, placing it delicately into the dish to his right. Then, he inserted the probes that would measure brain waves.

He got to work.

As he stabbed and seared, the subject gurgled and twitched, a little foam trickling from the side of their mouth. He glanced at the monitor, pressing his lips into a fine line. He observed the subjects aberrant brain waves, taking a mental note of the time. The subject had been diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder a year ago, and had taken to drink as a coping mechanism. He had deep scars up both forearms, possible suicide attempts. Ruben kept working.

Erik Satie's gymnopedie No. 1 gently sounded out from the record player just as the subjects heart stopped, announcing that Ruben had only a few more minutes to salvage what he could from the brain.

Once he’d scrubbed his hands, collected all of his data and neatly tucked it away in his files, Ruben threw a sheet over the body and sat at his desk. He frowned when his cell rang. Only one person had his number, and Jimenez wasn’t due to drop off more subjects until next week. He answered his cell.

“What do you want?”

“Ruben,” Jimenez sounded troubled. “Turn on your television.”

“Why?”

“Just, trust me.”

Ruben hung up and wandered upstairs to his living room, turned on the television. On the news station was an image of the apartment he’d abducted his latest subject from, surrounded by police tape. He frowned harder.

. . .

The front door to the apartment was off its hinges by the time Sebastian and Joseph arrived. Kidman was already there and when she noticed them, she approached, looking weary. “Landlord kicked the door in after blood started seeping into the apartment below.”

The bodies had just been removed, and now men in paper suits were going about their business, as was procedure. Sebastian turned and looked down the apartment hallway. No bloodied footprints. He looked back into the room. The carpet was thick with it, the crime scene investigators feet squelching with every step they took. Also on the floor were what Sebastian realised were decapitated fingers and toes. He made a face at the carnage.

“Detective!” It was a woman, young and pretty. Good figure. Any attraction she possessed diminished, however, the minute Sebastian realised she was a journalist. She was being manhandled down the hall by an officer. “Detective, is it him!?”

“Ma’am this is a crime scene,” The officer was saying as he dragged her. “You know you can’t be here.”

She was persistent, digging her heels into the carpet of the hallway, notepad and pen stubbornly in hand. “Is it the Krimson Ripper!?”

“Get her out of here!” Sebastian snapped.

“ _The Krimson Ripper_. So he’s been christened.” Joseph shook his head solemnly.

“Seven victims. That warrants a nickname for these parasites.”

“Eight victims,” said Kidman, not looking at him. “Just because Louis Parera is still alive doesn’t mean he’s not a victim.”

“Seven _bodies_ then,” Sebastian was in no mood for her attitude right now. “What do we know about these three?”

Kidman opened her book. “Three students; Daniel Delgado, Tamur Hamid and Christopher Kennedy. All 23 years old.” 

Sebastian sighed. “Just kids.”

“I’ll need a little more time to find out exactly what they were doing here; this apartment is rented out under the name Ryan Greeves.”

“Alright, go and talk to the landlord. Joseph, start questioning neighbours. I want to know where everyone in this apart block was last night and this morning. Did they hear anything, did they see anything – What is there opinion of Ryan Greeves, has any of the victims been here before.” Both partners nodded and headed off to carry out their respective tasks. Sebastian took out his cell and began making calls. He wanted checks done on all four names. He wanted the media kept in the dark until he knew more.

He wanted to catch this psycho before he killed again.

. . .

The figure had been watching the bandaged man closely. Had watched him leave the KCPD yesterday. Had watched him leave his big fancy mansion today. Had saw him dump the body.

 _Ruben Victoriano._ Oh yes, the figure had been keeping an eye on him. Knew who he was. Knew what he had been doing at Beacon with that quack Jimenez.

The figure sat cross-legged, his back against the brick wall that ran along the Elk River, his damp clothes clinging to him as the rain continued to fall. His bulky garbage bag in his lap. An old lady walking a Bichon Frise pup had mistook him for homeless and dropped a dollar at his feet. He just smiled at her and accepted. No point in embarrassing them both.

He'd been walking since finishing up at the apartment building, his chest tightening as he became short of breath. It would take a while for him to recover, but that gave him time to plan. He always watched targets for a few days before making his move, choosing the people closest to them, working out how best to subdue them all. But Ruben Victoriano did not have anybody. No friends, no family. He didn’t appear to hold any love for Jimenez, or any of his other colleagues. In fact, the figure was certain he would be doing Victoriano a favour by killing them.

 _I’ll be your friend, Ruben._ The figure thought as he stood, still breathless. _But I’ll have to kill you afterwards._

. . .

Sebastian couldn’t sleep. At first he thought it was because he’d spent all day hunched over a desk, rather than tiring himself out driving and questioning people as he felt he should have. But it wasn’t. The truth was he was exhausted, but sleep didn’t come, not even after half a bottle of whisky. He knew he would need to read every fine detail about what had been done to the three kids at the apartment, knew it was going to make his blood boil and his skin crawl. He remembered their fingers and toes scattered about the floor, like child’s discarded Lego pieces.

When the first signs of light tainted the sky Sebastian gave up on trying to sleep. He rolled out of bed and lit a cigarette as the coffee boiled. He flinched when his cell rang, checked the clock on the wall; it wasn’t even six yet.

His voice was hoarse despite his lack of sleep. “Hello?”

“Sebastian,” it was Kidman. “Sorry to wake you, but something’s happened.”

“You didn’t wake me. What’s wrong?”

“They found Ryan Greeves,” Sebastian could hear her heels clacking and the sound of a car door opening. “In Elk River.”

He was suddenly very awake. “What?”

“Ryan Greeves had surgery performed on his brain. Definitely the Elk River Killer, not the Krimson Ripper.”

“I’m on my way.”

“I’ll see you when you get here.”  

Sebastian didn’t know what to think about that, so decided not to try piecing anything together until he'd studied all the evidence. He poured his coffee into a travel mug and pulled on the same clothes from yesterday, throwing his spent cigarette at an astray. He grabbed his favourite coat and hurried out to his car.

He arrived at the station after Kidman but before Joseph, and the three of them poured over everything they had. Every note, every crime scene photo, every witness statement. Other officers began trickling into the station from 7:30 onwards, and when 9am arrived Sebastian demanded that everyone gather in the incident room. 

“You’ve all heard of the Elk River Killer,” Sebastian’s eyes flickered between the many faces filling the incident room, making sure he had everyone’s attention. “He struck again this morning.”

The room collectively held its breath. They had been trying to catch the Elk River Killer for years, and whenever he struck it put everyone on edge.

“The victim’s name was Ryan Greeves,” He pressed a clicker in his hand and a photo of the fresh faced young man appeared on the wall behind him. “Found in the Elk River at 4:30 this morning.” He pressed the clicker again and the naked body of Greeves flashed on the screen, his scalp peeling down over his face, his brain pinned by several sharp tools. Nobody flinched. They’d seen it all before. Sebastian pushed the clicker again, three photographs appeared.

“Daniel Delgado, Tamur Hamid and Christopher Kennedy,” he watched the room stiffen. “The three students found yesterday. Each had been beaten, burned, had teeth pulled, had their ears, nose, lips and stomachs slit open, had fractures to the ribs, arms and legs, and had multiple fingers and toes removed.”

“Sick fucker.” Someone muttered.

“They were all killed by a crossbow bolt to the head.” Sebastian pressed the clicker, revealing photos of the bodies as they were discovered. A few people groaned and rubbed their faces.

“As you can see, the work of another murderer. Not the Elk River Killer.”

“Could they be working together?” someone asked.

“It’s not impossible, but is highly unlikely.” Sebastian turned to Joseph, who wore a grim expression. “Detective Oda is going to run through everything we have on our new serial killer.” He handed the clicker to his partner.

“Right,” Joseph stood before the board. “The killer the media are calling the Krimson Ripper has killed seven that we know of,” He clicked, a photo of a middle-aged couple appearing behind him. “Jack Belmonte and Emily Murray were the first victims, both in their mid-thirties and engaged to be married.” He clicked, a photo of their mutilated corpses displaying. “Both were tortured over several hours. Murray was forced to strangle her partner to death before the killer shot her with a crossbow.”

The room remained deathly silent.

Joseph clicked, bringing up an image of the Parera family. “The next two murdered where Mariana and Sofia Parera, 30 and 6 years old.” He clicked again, the crime scene photo splaying onto the board. The sight elicited noises of disgust. “Mrs Parera was tortured, but Sofia was not. Both where shot and killed with a crossbow.” He brought up an image of Louis Parera. “Mr Parera was beaten and burned, but not tortured to the same extent as his wife. He was left alive.”

“Why?” a female officer put her hand up. “Why leave a witness?”

“Mr Parera was blind, not the best witness.” Joseph clicked again, a photo of the three students re-appearing. “Finally, the three young men tortured and killed by a crossbow, found yesterday.” His eyes scanned the room. “What’s the pattern here?”

“They were all tortured before death.” Someone offered.

“Sofia Parera wasn’t.” said Joseph. “What do the victims have in common in connection with the manner in which they died?”

“They were all killed by a crossbow.” Someone else offered. Joseph scratched his head.

“They were all forced to witness someone they loved suffer.” Said Kidman.

“Precisely,” Joseph nodded to her. “The first victims were engaged to be married. The second victims were a mother and daughter. The last victims had been friends since pre-school. The killer deliberately targets people who mean a lot to each other. A best friend, a lover. A child.” Joseph’s eyes fell, his lips tightening into a thin line. He thought of Yuina and Ami.

“That’s why he didn’t kill Mr Parera,” Sebastian joined him before the team. “He wanted him to live with what he had heard. This killer does not enjoy killing his victims, he enjoys torturing them. He would have let them all live if he could have, to force them to live with the trauma and mutilation done to them. But that would have left witnesses. A blind man cannot describe a suspect to the police.”

“The apartment that the three students were found in belonged to Ryan Greeves,” said Kidman, consulting her notes. “The landlord said that Ryan had not been paying rent. Had been drinking a lot, no longer the good tenant he had been at the start.”

“And neighbours said that he was no longer friendly. Thought he was heading down a bad road.” Joseph checked his own notes. “It’s likely that money problems and alcohol abuse aided in his spiralling depression.”

“Ryan Greeves had not been in his apartment for days prior to the Krimson Ripper’s arrival,” said Sebastian. “It’s possible that he was abducted by the Elk River Killer last week. Having not heard from their friend, and concerned for his well-being since he’d become depressed, Delgado, Hamid and Kennedy went down to his apartment to check on him.”

“Where they were attacked by the Krimson Ripper.” Said Joseph.

“There’s no way that’s just a coincidence,” said a male officer. “What’re the chances of that?”

“Yeah,” someone agreed. “These two must be working together.”

“Unless one of them is warning the other.” Said Kidman. “In order for the Krimson Ripper to know that Ryan Greeves’ apartment was empty and would remain so, he would have to have known that Ryan had been taken. We’ve established that the Krimson Ripper wouldn’t kill if he didn’t have to. What if, in his own twisted mind, he sees the Elk River Killer as competition? What if he believes that only he has a right to kill people, and he sees another killer as stealing from him?”

An officer grimaced. “Stealing?”

“Potential victims.” Said Kidman. “The Elk River Killer performs surgery on his victims, literally dissecting their brains while they are still alive. He’s a psychopath; he feels compelled to depersonalise his victims rather than see them as people who possess the same feelings and rights as him. He sees people as lab rats. Once he’s taken what he can from them, he discards them like a soiled rag.”

“How is that any different to what the Krimson Ripper does?”

“The ripper isn’t a psychopath,” said Sebastian. He swallowed hard. “At least, not in the way we understand it. Unlike the Elk River Killer, the Ripper doesn’t dehumanise his victims – he kills because he places great value on human life. He deliberately personalises his victims to gain a greater pleasure from the suffering he inflicts. He asked the Parera’s what their childhoods were like, what their happiest memories were, and we can assume he did the same with the others.”

Joseph frowned deeply. “Killing would be senseless to him if he didn’t attribute each victim with great physical and mental worth.”

“Jesus, one’s a wannabe surgeon with a God complex and the others just fucking nuts.” said an officer at the back.

“And they’re playing turf wars?” asked another.

“This is all just speculation,” said Joseph. “But keep it in mind.”

“Listen,” Sebastian put on his authoritive voice. “We have a better idea of what we’re dealing with. We have a very intelligent psychopath, and a particularly enthusiastic sadist. But, importantly, the latter is still clever enough not to leave prints. Not to leave witnesses. He is not disorganised, but he’s not predictable either. And it looks like he is just getting started. We don’t know who he will target next, but we do know there will be another target.” He scanned their faces once more, all eyes hard.  “We have to find _something_ before that happens.”

Joseph looked over at him. “Where should we start?”

“Kidman, go through all the files. Check old cases, cold cases, re-check them all. Look for anything or anyone sticks out.”

“Got it.”

“Joseph, Cross-reference criminal names with every aspect of the case we have so far. He can’t have just appeared out of thin air.”

“Right.”

He looked around the room, time seeming to stop for just a moment. “I want every single witness we have spoken to re-questioned. Someone must have something, we’re dealing with people, not ghosts.” Everyone nodded.

“Let’s catch this asshole before he strikes again.” Sebastian scowled as the room began to clear. “Both of them.” He said to himself.

. . .

 


	2. Chapter 2

. . .

The morning was carried in on a storm that battered the city with fierce winds and pelting rain. Sebastian banged his office door shut, peeling off his rain-heavy coat and slumping down at his desk with a grunt.

It had been four days since he’d addressed the team in the incident room, and they still had nothing. He leaned back in his chair, twirling his cigarette around his fingers, watching it burn to ash. Ignoring the no smoking rule.

He stared at the photo of Myra and Lily on his desk. He knew what he wanted to do. What he should do. But doing it could cost him his job. Captain Machlon kept pressuring him to take some time off, but Sebastian couldn’t allow himself. Not yet. He sighed, eyes trained on the smouldering tip of his cigarette.

He wanted to go to the Victoriano mansion.  Wanted to grab that condescending asshole by the shoulders and shake the truth out of him. He was convinced that man knew something. The disappearances from Beacon, why the staff and patients reacted to him so fearfully … his utter contempt for people and his refusal to cooperate. None of it sat well with Sebastian. Neither did the fourth crossbow Victoriano had mentioned that Sebastian hadn’t seen on the wall. And then the screaming Parera had heard.

No, none of this sat well with him at all.

Normal people could never understand. Normal people; the everyday, nine-to-five, alarm clock, soap opera and school run people never saw Sebastian’s world. He never let them.

He lived in another world; a realm closer to hell. In his world he saw the dead, the raped, the tortured, the abandoned. The voiceless. Sebastian gave those people a voice because nobody else could. The normal people couldn’t. The world outside of his work didn’t understand because they did not see.

This job had hardened him; had desensitised him long before Lily’s death had broken his heart. Long before Myra’s disappearance had stolen his hope. But Sebastian couldn’t give up because the voiceless still needed him. The murdered, the violated, the mutilated – he was their guardian. He was all that stood between the normal world and hell on earth.

He took a final drag of his cigarette and crushed it onto his desk, and stood. He would go to hell and back to catch these demons.

It was no place he wasn’t familiar with.

. . .

Joseph glanced down at his notebook, getting out of the car.

A reporter from the Krimson Post had contacted him with a lead regarding the investigation, but had refused to say how they attained the information. Joseph was sceptical, but all leads had to be followed. And they had nothing else to go on.

He looked up at Beacon Mental Hospital, its battered brick walls seeming to leer down at him. Everything in the case seemed tied to this place somehow, but with no evidence there was very little Joseph could do.

He entered through the door and glanced up and down the deserted hallways, pursing his lips at the queer silence. He checked his watch: 12:45. Maybe everyone was at lunch.

He walked slowly down a corridor, his pace almost leisurely as he had no particular destination in mind. When a nurse approached him he flashed his badge, sending the dumpy woman skittering. The staff didn’t like hovering around police officers, it appeared.   

“Quiet … quiet … quiet …”

Joseph cocked his head and scanned around until spotting the only door in the corrider that lay open; slightly ajar. He approached it and peered through the glass window. A young man with pale skin and paler hair was crouched in a lime-green chair, scratching at his face. He was curled up into a compact ball, trying to make himself as small as possible.

“Quiet … be quiet …” he whispered. 

Joseph knocked softly, but the boy didn’t stir. He looked at the small whiteboard beside the door which read ‘Withers, Leslie.’

Joseph gently opened the door and stepped in, smiling when Leslie peeked up. The boy’s name had come up in the reports regarding patients who refused to discuss Victoriano’s work at the hospital. They regarded one another, the only sound coming from the white clock ticking on the wall.

“Hi,” Joseph said. “Mr Withers, right?”

The boy looked at his feet again, scratching his cheek hard enough to graze the skin, drawing blood. “Quiet …”

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Joseph edged further inside. He noticed blood on the boy’s uniform and scowled. It was too much to have come from his cheek. “Are you hurt?”

“Hurt … hurt …”

Joseph approached, crouching down before the chair to look up at Leslie’s face. The clock kept ticking. When he got a closer look, he noticed the boy had a black eye, not quite dark enough to be old.

Joseph lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Who did that to you?”

Leslie shook his head, his big eyes wide and fearful. His lip trembled. He was in his twenties, but an air of innocence and immaturity clung to him like a cloak. Joseph’s heart sunk for the boy, and he repeated his question in a softer tone.

But the voice that replied was not Leslie’s.

“I did.”

Joseph stood, but not quick enough. He turned, hand instantly going for his gun.

Then the clock stopped.  

. . .

It was a miserable morning as Sebastian drove to the Victoriano manor.

Rain was slanting down like nails, beating off the windshield and clouding his visibility. He needed new wipers. Needed a new fucking car.

Once at the estate, Sebastian approached the grand oak door, eyes drifting over the drenched grounds. He contemplated having a cigarette before knocking but decided against it. Delaying would not make the approaching conversation any less uncomfortable.

He knocked and waited.

He shifted on his legs. He still didn’t have a warrant. Didn’t have any new questions that would fool Victoriano into believing he was here for any reason other than that Sebastian obviously didn’t like him. But still. He knocked again.

After another minute he reached out a third time, but the door opened before his knuckles made contact.

Ruben Victoriano appeared but didn’t speak, choosing instead to glare expectantly. The sound of beating rain remained all that broke the silence for a long, awkward moment. His bandages where absent, though a dark beanie covered his bald head. Sebastian was surprised at what he saw and forced himself not to stare. Jesus, the scarring was bad; a grotesque mixture of second and third degree burns. His flesh looked like grilled hamburger meat. Sebastian suppressed pulling a face.

“Mr Victoriano,” he nodded. “Have you got a minute to answer a few more questions?”

Victoriano narrowed his eyes. “Get off my property.”

“Look, I’m sorry for pulling you down to the station,” Sebastian looked at the ground, concentrating hard on keeping his irritation and sarcasm in check. “But there’s been another murder. Four, actually. We’re talking to everyone who has a connection to the case and … we really don’t have much else.”

“And you’re here because one of the victims failed to rob me two years ago.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian ran a hand through his damp hair. “It may seem ridiculous but people are dead. I’m just trying to do my job. So if you answer my questions I can cross your name off the list and we can both get on with our lives.” He kept his gaze on the ground, feigning discomfort.

It worked. Victoriano slowly opened the door and scanned behind Sebastian. If he was surprised to see that the detective was alone, he didn’t let it show. “Ask your questions, then.”

“Could I come in?” Victoriano stared at him before cautiously stepping back, allowing Sebastian inside. “Thanks. Sooner I ask my questions, sooner I’m out of your hair …” he trailed off. “Out of your hat, even.”

Victoriano said nothing, slowly closed the door.

Sebastian returned to the large sitting room they had stood in during his last visit, raindrops dripping from his coat onto the marble floor with each stride, puddling. When he stopped, he became aware of Victoriano standing close behind him. Too close. Invading his personal space. He turned, found himself face to face with the scarred man. Fucking hell, the burns were really bad.

“So,” Sebastian took a step back, leaning on the arm of a leather chair. “Can you tell me what is it you are working on for Beacon?”

Victoriano clasped his hands, donning the appearance of a disfigured medical student. He considered his words carefully. “Human consciousness.” He said eventually.

Sebastian studied him. “Human consciousness?”

“And how to control it,” he clarified. He contemplated how to explain his research to a layman, pursing his lips. “The effects that my work will have on neuroscience and psychology will be boundless once I have my results. Someone like you wouldn’t understand.”

“Humour me.”

Victoriano paused and watched him the way a child would watch an ant under a magnifying glass. “By inserting wires into a subject’s brain and disrupting the electrical activity of the claustrum, I can create what you could call a consciousness switch.”

Sebastian watched the marred flesh of the man’s cheek tug as he spoke. “So, you knock them out by electrocuting them?”

“No,” he said, irritated, as if Sebastian was simply too stupid to keep up. “Each time the area is shocked the subjects lose responsiveness, but remain awake. Although they lose the ability to respond to external stimuli, they are fully conscious. When the electrical stimulation stops, they regain that ability.” He seemed to relax a little as he spoke. Just a little.  

“So,” Sebastian frowned. “You paralyse them … but you don’t?”

The scarred man offered only a slight reaction, a twitch of his lips, then nothing once more. “If that’s how you want to put it.”

“And that achieves what, exactly?”

Victoriano was cooperative now, revelling in being able to explain his work. To talk. Even if it was to someone who couldn’t comprehend. Perhaps once upon a time the man would get lonely, lost in the isolation of his empty mansion. Perhaps that was why a twinkle now came to his eyes as he spoke, years of loneliness making human interaction an alien thing to him.

“I’ve argued that the claustrum is the best candidate for testing specific functions associated with consciousness. It would have far reaching consequences for those with dissociative identity disorder and various forms of psychosis. No one has ever tested a theory of this nature,” he paused. “Until now.”

Sebastian felt an uncomfortable sensation wash over him as those pale eyes settled on him, tried to shrug it off. Concentrate on his questions. “And that’s all relevant and useful to the patients at Beacon?”

“When my results are confirmed they will answer the oldest and most profound questions about human consciousness known to mankind.” He scowled when Sebastian just stared at him. “So yes, it is relevant to many of the conditions being treated at Beacon.”

Then it hit. A coldness ran through Sebastian’s veins, icy fingers raking down his back.

The pathologist had said the Elk River Killers victims had all been screamingly awake when their brains had been sliced into, but none of the bodies had ligature marks, nor had disabling drugs been found in their systems. It was as if they were paralyzed … but not.

Sebastian stared at Victoriano and grit his teeth, his jaw muscles bulging. A bead of sweat trailed down from his forehead. A thick lump grew in his throat.

“I see.” His voice was hoarse.

Victoriano continued to observe him, looking oddly relaxed. He had noticed his guest’s reaction. Then he did something that scared Sebastian. He smiled.

“Will that be all, Detective?”

Sebastian cleared his throat, leaning off the arm of the chair. “Yes.” He straightened up. They shared a look, and it said more than Victoriano’s words ever could. This man was dangerous. “I’ll see myself out.”

Victoriano watched him leave with predatory intensity, the smile still in place. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing one another again soon.”

Sebastian left, not looking back. Once in his car, he gripped the wheel until his knuckles were white and a tremor shook through him. He knew it. He fucking knew it.

Ruben Victoriano was the Elk River Killer.

He just needed proof.

. . .

Kidman was in her office working through preliminary forensic reports on the murders, trying to find something, anything that would help. Some small discrepancy that she could find to aid the investigation. So far she and her team had found nothing. Not a hopeful lead. Nothing. Whoever the Krimson Ripper was, he was careful.

Kidman’s initial theory had been that the ripper could be a police officer, but she had spent the last week painstakingly scrutinising every officer that fit the profile and found nothing. Back to square one.  

Her train of thought was interrupted by her cell. She checked the caller ID; Sebastian.

She answered. “Kidman.”

“Hey,” he said, sounding tense. “I need you to look up Victoriano again. There’s something else there, there must be. He’s … there’s something wrong with the guy.”

She frowned. “Can’t a disfigured man just be bitter without being suspicious?”

“He can,” said Sebastian. “But that’s not what’s wrong with that creep. I know there’s something, I can feel it in my gut.” Kidman knew Sebastian’s gut was rarely wrong.

“Right,” she scribbled in her diary. “I’ll look into it.”

“Thanks,” Sebastian sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Call me as soon as you find anything.”

He hung up and got out of his car.

As he walked towards the station he called Joseph. He’d barely heard from his partner since tasking him with cross-referencing names, which was unlike Joseph. The call rung out, forwarded to voicemail.

Inside the station, Sebastian picked up a loaded file and headed for his office. Before he got there, his cell went. Probably Joseph returning his call.

“Castellanos,” he said, entering the building.

“Sebastian, its Yuina.” He paused before pressing the elevator button. He hadn’t spoken to Joseph’s wife since getting hammered at their New Year’s party and accidently smashing their coffee table.

“Hey,” his voice softened. “How’s Ami?”

Joseph had asked him to be the Godfather to the child a year before Sebastian lost Lily. Little Ami had helped him through his grief almost as much as Joseph himself had.

“She’s good,” Yuina sounded uneasy, unbefitting her usually sweet voice. “Is Joseph coming home today?”

Sebastian frowned. “Today?”

“He’s told me how big this new case is, but he didn’t come home last night,” She sighed, moved the phone to her other ear. “I respect you have a lot on your plate, but it shouldn’t be keeping him over their several nights at a time.”

“Yuina-“

“Ami needs her dad, and I need my husband-“

“ _Yuina_ ,” Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Joseph didn’t come home last night?”

“No,” she paused, her tone turning concerned. “You mean he isn’t with you?”

He felt his stomach shrink. “No, yes, He’s fine Yuina, we’ve just been busy,” he felt like an asshole, but he didn’t want her panicking when she had Ami. “Is everything alright?”

“We’re fine,” she said, unconvinced. “Just tell Joseph to call me when he can, I want to talk to him.”

“I will … give my love to Ami,” He turned, stalking away from the elevator. “Take care.” He hung up, hit number one on his speed dial. Joseph’s voicemail answered again. Sebastian abandoned all professionalism and ran out of the station, turning heads as he went but not caring. He raced for his car and pulled out his keys as he dialled a number into his cell. It rang twice before being picked up.

“Kidman, it’s me.” He spoke before she could.

“I hope you’re not looking for anything on Victoriano already,” Juli’s voice dropped. “You’ve only just-”

He started the engine. “What’s the last lead Joseph followed up?”

He heard her flicking through papers. “Diaz. Ivan Diaz, from the Krimson Post. He called Joseph with something about the Beacon patient’s escap-“

Sebastian hung up and slammed on the gas, heading for Beacon.

. . .

Joseph hadn’t felt the knife. Not the first time. But he’d felt the second time. The pain quickly overrode the shock. The figure moved away, staring intently at him with black eyes. Joseph glanced down.

He had been stabbed twice in the stomach, hard and fast. And Deep. His front shirt was covered in blood, and it soaked through and dripped down his pants. He put his hands on the wound in a vain attempt to quell the blood pumping out.

“Ah…”

His legs were giving way, and he grabbed at the figure, hung onto him. Joseph couldn’t let him get away, but black spots were rapidly swarming his vision and obscuring his sight. The figure regarded him, curious.

Then Joseph crumpled.

He hit the floor firmly with his knees before falling onto his side, curling up as agony jolted through him. The figure knelt down and rifled through his pockets, pulling out his leather wallet. They plucked out the photo inside.

“Is this your daughter?” he asked. “She’s beautiful. It’s such a shame I can’t spend more time getting to know you, Joseph.” He caressed his face as Joseph spluttered. “We’re all leading different lives … seeing only a tiny part of the veneer that people present. Life is so complex, so stunningly imperfect,” He stood again, taking the photograph with him. “And death so much more so.”

Joseph groaned, his body trembling from the pain coursing through him.  

The figure watched him for a moment before methodically moving his eyes over to Leslie, still crouched in the chair, face hidden. He approached the boy and gently took is chin, pulling his face up. He had on latex gloves.

“Did you know that to demand that others conform and agree with the majority … is an insult to us all.” He pointed at Joseph. “This man’s existence, just like yours and mine, is a miracle. Don’t you see that what I’ve done is beautiful?”

Leslie shook like a leaf caught in a gale in the man’s grasp, fingers clawing into his own scalp.

“I should kill you,” the man said, massaging Leslie’s jaw with his thumb. “I should.”

Leslie stuttered quietly “Should kill you …”

The figure looked down at Joseph again, who had fallen still. The urge to vomit was returning, and the figure knew he had to leave. He couldn’t leave DNA behind.

He wouldn’t kill the boy. He could not take two lives in such an unsatisfying manner in just one day. He would make up for this. And he knew just where to achieve that.

He would leave this distraction to the scowling detective with the long coat. The figure turned, forgetting about Leslie and Joseph. He pulled his hood over his head and exited the room, tucking the knife into his pocket.

He had the bandaged man to visit.

. . .

Sebastian tossed the police light onto the roof of his car and sped through the streets with the siren blaring, pushing 90 through a series of red lights. He had a gut twisting feeling that something bad had happened, and his gut was rarely wrong. He hoped it was wrong now.

Joseph’s car was outside Beacon when Sebastian arrived.

He pulled up and hurriedly got out, rushing forward without bothering to lock the car. He nearly shouldered a hooded man in his haste to get inside, but his thoughts were solely trained on finding Joseph. He continued on.

“There … there …”

A skinny, fair haired patient was standing outside a hospital room. He had a black eye and blood down his front. Sebastian ran over to where he was and entered the room, panting.

The walls and floor were gleaming, sparkling as if frequently polished. Next to a lime chair, by the window, Joseph lay curled up, oozing dark red.

Sebastian’s heart leapt into his throat.

He hurried to his partner’s side and knelt by him, scooping up his head. “ _Joseph_ ,” His eyelids fluttered. He tried to move his mouth. “Don’t speak,” Sebastian pulled out his cell and called an ambulance, his tone urgent.

Joseph was bleeding through his shirt, pumping out blood in time with his quickening heart rate. He was in shock. And very, very pale.

“I need an ambulance, Beacon Mental Hospital, a police officer has been stabbed – _hurry_.”

He hung up his cell and peeled off his coat. He pressed it to Joseph’s midsection, applying as much pressure as he could as blood soaked through, staining. “Come on, Joseph,” he breathed. “Don’t you give up one me …”

Joseph’s eyes stopped fluttering and he went limp once more.

“Come on, Joseph. Don’t you dare …”

No response.

“Joseph,” he clasped his face, panic sinking in. “ _Joseph_!”

The blood kept pumping.

“Somebody help!” Sebastian screamed. “Somebody help, he’s _dying_!”

Dr Jimenez appeared at the door, looking dishevelled and shocked. Several other doctors and nurses also appeared before rushing in. They pulled Sebastian away to tend to Joseph, and Sebastian allowed them, shakily getting to his feet. They were doctors, they would save him. They had to.

He turned to Leslie, adrenaline causing his whole form to tremble. “Did you see who did this?”

Leslie scratched at his face. “Who did this …”

“What did he look like?” Sebastian grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “Answer me! Tell me what you saw!”

Jimenez approached him, hands held out. “That’s enough, detective.”

“Leslie,” Sebastian ignored him, his eyes boring into the young man. “ _Tell_ me who did this.”

“ … miracle.”

“Miracle?” Sebastian squeezed him, desperate, pleading. “What is?”

Leslie looked at the bloody outline on the floor. “ … m-miracle.”

“Who, Joseph? The police officer who was attacked? Did the man who did this say Joseph was a miracle?”

“Existence …” Leslie began to panic, his breaths coming out in strained staccato. “What … what I’ve done … what I’ve done … what-“

Sebastian shook him harder. “ _Tell me_ -!”

“Detective Castellanos that is _enough_. You are scaring my-” Jimenez seized his arm.

Sebastian couldn’t catch himself. His fist was aiming toward the doctor’s jaw before he registered what was happening. It connected – _hard_.

Jimenez’s head snapped violently to the side, taking his body with it. His legs tangled and tripped over themselves, sending him gracelessly to the floor. He sat and looked up at Sebastian, who stared down at him open-mouthed, as equally stunned.

The nurses not tending to Joseph looked at him in awe but nobody spoke. “I ...” Sebastian stuttered, turning briskly on his feet and leaving the room. That had probably just cost him his badge.

If Joseph didn’t make it, that wouldn’t matter.

He was hurrying out of the hospital entrance when a gentle tug on his coat stopped him. He turned to see Leslie, his watery eyes looking up at him.

“Leslie?”

The boy stared at him, his eyes eerie and wide. “What I’ve done … is _beautiful_.”

. . .

The figure crouched down before the Victoriano manor doors, and pulled out a kit.

With a steady hand, he slid a tension wrench into the keyhole and gently pressed it down. With his other hand he inserted a pick and began to brush it back and forth. He smiled when the first pin clicked, and continued with the rest.  

A skill he’d picked up as a boy.

When the door opened a quiet beeping sounded nearby - at eye level – the tempo increasing quickly. He gently closed the door again. A motion sensor.

He pushed the door open just enough to squeeze his arm through, and ran his hand over the interior wall to his right. He found the small device and, with quite some effort, tore it from the wall. He pushed the door open all the way open.

He smiled and entered, dropping the device at his feet.  

He made his way up the grand staircase as silent as a ghost and stopped at the top, closing his eyes and cocking his head. He could hear music.

He followed the sound, one foot carefully placing itself before the other, body stooped to evenly distribute his weight through his steps. He was surprised an old manor like this didn’t have creaking floorboards. The music was getting louder, closer.

It was a piano. Someone was playing a concerto piece; Andante by Shostakovich. The melody was tender and haunting, each note sending shivers down the figures spin as he approached the door.

He peered inside.

Ruben Victoriano sat at a grand piano, back straight, bandaged fingers floating over the keys. His smart shoes moved up and down on the brass pedals and he swayed slightly, lost in the song.

The figure stood for a moment, observing, appreciating the beauty of the music piece before silently entering the room. The music drowned out the sound of him pulling out an empty garbage bag.

He advanced slowly, soundlessly, closing the distance between himself and the piano. Then he tightly wrapped the bag around Victoriano’s face.

And squeezed.

. . .

The paramedics had taken Joseph away, barely clinging to life.

Sebastian sucked deeply on a cigarette and exhaled slowly, leaning against the police patrol car. His shirt was covered in the blood of his partner. Connelly had tried to speak to him but Sebastian was unable to respond, almost unable to stand. _What I’ve done … is beautiful_. That’s what the attacker had said to Leslie. He looked at Joseph’s blood, encrusted on his hands and down his front.

He had lost Lily. He had lost Myra. He could not lose Joseph.

Kidman arrived in another police cruiser, panic tainting her usually aloof features. Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

“Jesus Christ,” she approached him, sounding breathless. “Joseph…”

Sebastian nodded.

“Thank God you go here on time.” She smiled at him, but it was forced. She was worried too.

“Pot luck,” bitterness in his words. “The ripper was here.”

Kidman looked about, frowning. “How can you be sure it was him? He never leaves victims alive. At least not ones able to see.”

Sebastian was too absorbed in his own thoughts to speak. He knew it was the ripper. Knew that the sonofabitch thought his murders were beautiful – that he was extinguishing miracles. It _had_ to be him.

Sebastian’s gut was telling him there was only one place the bastard would go next. He had no proof, no _reason_ to think it. He just had to check. He excused himself curtly and hurried to his car, brushing off Connelly’s attempt to stop him. 

Kidman watched him, concern creasing her face.

She knew where he was going.   

. . .

Ruben Victoriano opened his eyes.

Black iris’s stared right back at him. The face was inches from his own, their bad breath blowing over his lips. Victoriano blinked and scowled. “I know who you are.” he said, his voice low and hoarse.

The man cocked his head, intrigued. His black eyes were slightly sunken and a small mole sat beneath his lips. He was familiar. Victoriano shook his head slowly to dislodge the dizziness. “You’re Simeon Solano,” he frowned, mentally piecing the dates together. “You were a patient at Beacon ten years ago.”

The man straightened up, smiled. “You remember me.”

Victoriano tried to move his arms but they wouldn’t budge. Glancing down, he saw he’d been tied to the chair. He looked around his dining room. There was a bulging garbage bag on the table. He tried to remember how he knew Solano from Beacon.

He recalled having just murdered his parents.

Yes. Victoriano had offered two thugs a lot of money to stage their deaths as an accident, introducing both to his operating table when they came looking for their pay. Jimenez had then threatened to stop providing subjects if he didn’t hand over the families annual donation. He’d left the mansion for the first time in years to personally deliver the cheque, and to make it clear he wanted more research materials.

Before leaving Beacon, he’d observed a patient sitting in their room, messy dark hair, black, lifeless eyes and a small mole on their chin. The name on the door read ‘ _Solano, Simeon’_ and Victoriano had told Jimenez he wanted that one delivered with his next batch of subjects.

But he never arrived.

“Yes,” Victoriano said. “And I know why you’re here.”

Solano blinked. “Why am I here?”

The corner of Victoriano’s lip twitched slightly in what could have been amusement. “You’re here to kill me.” He stared into those too-black eyes. “I hope you’re not expecting me to beg for my life. You’ll be sorely disappointed.”

“Disappointed but not deterred,” Solano sat on the opposite chair, leaning his elbows on his knees. “When confronted by something that frightens us we seek safety in the old banalities programmed into us since childhood. ‘ _If you can’t say something nice’_ , and all that.”

“You think I’m frightened of you?”

“Not of me,” Solano sat up straight. “But you’re terrified of death.” Victoriano’s expression gave nothing away. “There’s no pleasure in killing a man who doesn’t fear death, after all.”

“Think whatever you want,” his hostage said. “When I get out of this chair it won’t be death you’re worrying about.”

“You mean your experiments? That you’re doing with Jimenez?” Solano chuckled. “You’re just a man, Ruben. Your mind is no mark of divinity – you’re not God. Your work simply reveals your savagery. No other animal does to its kin what you’ve been doing to yours.” The irony of his words seemed lost on him.

Victoriano tried tugging at the ropes. “These vermin are no kin of mine. You’re talking about yourself.”

“I don’t claim to be above my fellow man.”

“No,” Victoriano scowled.  “You’d be mistaken to claim that.”

“It really is a shame your arrogance has overwhelmed your intelligence,” said Solano, sitting back in the chair, steepling his fingers; like a Bond villain about to explain his plan for world domination. “Most people are fascinating creatures.”

“Most _people_ ,” Victoriano spat the word out like a piece of bad meet. “Believe they can achieve anything if they put their mind to it. It’s not until they try to do something useful with their miserable lives that they become conscious of their limitations, their pathetic powers of self-expression, their utter pointlessness,” Victoriano lifted his head, the voice of judgement. “Most people cannot think deeply about anything because they’ve never had to. They’re husks, useful only when furthering my work.”

Solano nodded. “Perhaps you can only think so deeply about everything because daddy went crazy and locked you in the basement for so long?” He smiled at his captive. It was crooked. Unhinged.

Victoriano said nothing, stared at the intruder with an intensity that would send most men skittering away with their tails between their legs.

“I tried to find out all I could about you before coming here tonight, but information was scarce,” Solano regarded him. “Information on the fire was easy to come by, but afterwards? Not so much.”

“What exactly do you want to know?”

He inhaled deeply through his nose and shrugged “I want to know about you,” Solano smiled again, his cheeks lifting and pushing his black eyes into thin crescents. “Before we begin.” His eye’s flickered to the garbage bag. 

Something in Victoriano felt that, perversely, he was going to enjoy this. He would play whatever game Simeon wanted, and he would win. Simeon was just another microbe. When it was Victoriano’s turn to pick his brain apart, he wouldn’t be doing it metaphorically.

He returned Solano’s smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Where would you like to start?”

. . .

With his partner in a critical condition in intensive care, Sebastian’s head was a mess. Joseph would need surgery to ensure his survival, and Sebastian knew he should have went to the hospital to await any news.

But more than anything, he wanted to catch the fucker responsible.

The rage coursing through him threatened to take over. He knew if he got his hands around the throat of the man who’d stabbed Joseph, he would probably kill them. He couldn’t allow himself to do that.

His gut was telling him that this all led back to Victoriano, but the problem was that ‘gut instinct’ did not get warrants and did not validate suspect harassment. His captain had ‘discussed’ this with him before.

But he wasn’t about to let Josephs attacker get free.

Not even if it cost him his job. Or his life.

He pressed down on the gas pedal.

. . .

“Why do you do what you do? Abduct people. Open their heads up. What do you hope to gain out of your experiments?” Victoriano watched Solano carefully, stared him down. Neither man blinked.

“An inferior mind couldn’t comprehend the significance of my work.”

“Luckily there are no inferior minds here.”

He snorted. Alongside anatomy and neurobiology, Ruben had studied psychology extensively. He knew more than most professionals but lacked the qualifications. He knew he had to deduce what mental state his interrogator was in and devise the appropriate strategy for dealing with him.

He had to keep him talking. Keep him playing.

“My work has made it possible to link multiple minds together. I can connect subjects to an individual mind, force them to experience the memories and perceptions of that mind,” He closed his eyes, took a slow breath, opened them again. “And soon I will be able to transfer one mind to another body, and eventually to reactivate a mind after complete loss of brain function.”

“You really do fancy yourself a God among insects, don’t you?”

“Once my work is complete, I will be.”

Solano grinned. “You have no appreciation for the beauty of people. You’re unworthy. There are few powers greater than inflicting death on another,” his voice was light, good-humoured. “If you’re so much better than everyone else, what will that make me when I kill you?”

Victoriano studied him, cover to cover. Knew the trigger that had to be pulled. Knew that the man holding him captive in his own home needed to be knocked down a few pegs. Knew he was just the person to do that. 

“You said you wanted to know about me. Do you know what I do when I select my research material? I read the case histories of every subject I want. I select the most suitable, and then weed out the incompatible. Ten years ago, I read your case history.” Victoriano’s voice was low and raspy as he spoke. “About how your mother died when you were still a boy. About your father, before your step-mother came along.”

Solano stopped smiling.

“About his needs.” Victoriano continued.

“We’re not talking about me.”

“Oh but we are,” He grinned darkly. “We’re getting to know one another. You said you found out all you could about me before you came here. Well I found plenty out about you before tonight too, as it turns out.”

Solano’s eyes narrowed. “That-“

“With your mother dead,” Victoriano interrupted. “Your father still had certain needs.”

“Stop it.” Something changed in Solano’s tone. Something darkened.

“You had to take care of those for him,”

Solano rose from the chair carefully, like an animal spotting its next meal.

Victoriano didn’t ease off. “But not just as you were …”

Solano walked across to him, his stride twitchy, hands shaking. His control was slipping.

“He always dressed you up first-“

He was backhanded, hard. “ _Shut up_.” Solano leaned in close. Victoriano could smell the sickly sweet of his breath, like candy mixed with vomit.

“Tell me,” Solano fished into his pocket, his mask of composure cracking. “Did that fire leave a lasting impression?” He pulled out a zippo lighter and flicked it open. He held it in front of Victoriano’s face, the flame dancing between them.

That’s when he saw the depths of screaming madness dancing behind Solano’s eyes.

Victoriano pressed himself into the back of the chair, fighting the urge to close his eyes as the flame was held closer to him. And closer. When he gave no reply, Solano pushed the flame into the bandage covering his right cheek. It caught fire.

Victoriano grunted and shook his head quickly until the small flame disappeared, becoming smoke. He glared up, sweat dampening his skin. Solano grabbed his chin, grin twisted and unbalanced. Eyes too black. “Is your stove gas or electric?”

“Go and see for yourself.”

“I hope its gas,” He walked around the chair, leaning down to put his lips to Victoriano’s ear. “We are going to have so much fun if it is.”

When he left, Victoriano began to struggle against his bonds. He wrenched his arms and yanked his legs up, the rope burning his skin. He bent forward, struggling to get his mouth to his wrists. When he finally managed, he bit into the rope restraining his right arm and gnawed on it, his sharp incisors piercing it when he tugged his head from side to side.

After a minute of frantic tearing, he was able to heave his arm free. He pulled out the thin folding knife he kept hidden in his inside shirt pocket.

Solano re-entered the dining room.

He didn’t see the fist coming.

It connected with the side of his face and spun him round, sending him reeling into the doorframe. He caught himself and staggered, putting a hand on his mouth.

He tasted copper and laughed menacingly. It was a disconcerting sound. “You sonofabitch.”

Victoriano moved in.   

Solano ducked but the second blow hit him in the ribs. The air was rushed from him as he fell to one knee, wheezing. His garbage back was too far to be reached from where he was. He smiled. Victoriano smiled back.

He punched Solano again, sending him down.

Staggering, Victoriano unbuckled his belt and slipped it off. Solano made an attempt to get to his feet, fighting the aching pain that had taken up residence throughout his body. Victoriano kicked him down and looped his belt round his neck - he pulled hard.

“You’re right,” He gasped. “We are going to have _fun_.”

He pulled the belt tighter.

Solano clawed at him, still grinning madly as his face went purple. He succeeded in tugging off some bandages before his vision doubled, then doubled again. He gave up struggling.

Victoriano pulled the belt as tight as it would go until the body in his grip went limp. He let the unconscious man drop to the floor, tossing the belt aside and panting heavily.

“You said you wanted to know about me,” he breathed, his own insanity blazing in his eyes like wildfire. “Now you will.”

. . .

Sebastian sprinted up the Victoriano manor steps, slowing when he noticed the door lying open. On the ground lay what looked like some kind of detonating device. _A bomb?_

Sebastian scowled, pulling his gun for his shoulder holster.

He stepped inside, the barrel of his gun scanning the circumference of the room. “KCPD!” his voice shook with barely contained rage. “Victoriano! Police, come down now!”

Victoriano heard his name as he dropped Solano onto the steel table in his basement, scowling when he realised who it was.

This was the second time Castellanos had interrupted his experiments. It would be the last. Victoriano picked up a cloth and a clear bottle of liquid before slipping off his shoes. Silently, he snuck up the stairs on bare tip-toes.

Castellanos was in the dining room examining Solano’s garbage bag. When he pulled out the crossbow inside he swore under his breath, unaware of the presence stalking up behind him.

In one swift movement Victoriano wrapped his arms around the detective and shoved the chloroform soaked clothe into his face, pinching his nose to force open his mouth.

Sebastian lurched forward and swung to the side, trying frantically to knock his attacker from his back. Victoriano held on stubbornly, twisting his fingers in Sebastian’s hair and yanking backwards, then stuffing the rag into the man’s mouth.

Sebastian’s struggles became clumsy and he ran them both into the dining table, hand stretching out for a crossbow bolt. His hand never made it. Sebastian’s body dropped like a sack of potatoes and Victoriano wiped sweat from his forehead. He bent over and grabbed Sebastian’s legs, dragging him awkwardly towards the basement as he’d done with Solano less than an hour ago.

Two birds with one stone.

Sebastian didn’t know how much time had passed when he finally opened his eyes.

Pain lanced through his head and down his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut again and groaned, waiting for the headache to pass. When it did, he tried to stand. Couldn’t. His hands were bound behind the chair he was propped in.

He blinked and began to take in his dull surroundings. The room was windowless, the only light provided by the various oil lamps placed around on tables and shelves. It was then he noticed the abundance of test tubes, jars and other vials lining every surface, the smell of chemicals strong.

Something groaned off to his left.

Sebastian turned his head, craning it to get a better look. A dark haired man was laid out on an operating table, his face turned away from Sebastian but his fingers flexing. He groaned again.

“Hey,” said Sebastian. “Are you alright?”

“He is,” said a familiar voice. Sebastian turned, looking over at Ruben Victoriano. He had a gleaming tray in his hands. “For now.”

“The gig is up Victoriano,” he tried to keep his voice steady and convincing. “My team knows that you’re the Elk River Killer. They’ll be here any minute. Stop this now - you’re just making things worse for yourself.”

Ruben ignored him, walked over to the man on the table. He began to prepare a needle.

Sebastian flexed his arms and legs, twisted his torso, tried to loosen his bounds. They didn’t budge. He stared over as Ruben turned the man’s face, stuck the needle in his neck.

“Is that who I think it is?” asked Sebastian.

“Who do you think it is?”

“The Krimson Ripper.”

“Yes, but who do you think it is?” Ruben cast a look over, his face as cold as ever. Sebastian said nothing. Ruben snorted. “You have no idea, do you? And you’re Krimson’s _finest_.” The man on the table muttered incoherently and shifted slightly before falling completely still, silent.

“What are you going to do?”

“You’ll see.” Ruben began to prepare the tools to his left, all glinting and sharp. He picked up what looked like an ice-pick.

Sebastian continued to struggle. He squirmed, tried to pull his arms free of the ropes, only succeeded in making them tighter. He tried to pull himself forward, grunting and gasping, sweat coating his skin. He kept trying, rocking the chair. He wanted to scream in frustration.

Sebastian glared at the back of Victoriano’s head as he leaned over the man on the table, baring his teeth “Victoriano!”

“ _Hey_!” Sebastian turned his head to see Juli Kidman, gun in hand, standing in the doorway. Victoriano turned as well, black rage darkening his features. Kidman stared him down.

She kept her gun on Victoriano but then swiftly moved her arm to the side and sent a bullet into the oil lamp on the shelves, shattering it. The lamp burst into flames, embers scattering onto the surrounding books and papers.

A look of horror spread over Victoriano’s features as a fire quickly grew, engulfing the entire shelf and swallowing everything in its path. “No!”

Kidman rushed over to Sebastian while Victoriano tried desperately to quell the flames. She released the ropes binding him, coughing as a thick smoke filled the room. The basement was burning quick, the temperature dramatically spiking.

“Get him out of here,” Sebastian nodded to the man on the table. “I’ll get Victoriano.”

Kidman nodded, ran to the man and checked for a pulse. She tried to shake him awake when she detected one but he wouldn’t stir, so she pulled his arm over her shoulder and struggled to pull him up.

Sebastian turned from her, squinting through the smoke for Victoriano. When he found him, distracted with trying to swat away the flames destroying his life’s work, Sebastian lunged.

Victoriano was unprepared for him. Sebastian’s fist came round, crashing into his face. Victoriano spun and lost his footing, almost landing in the fire. He froze like a deer trapped in headlights, fear cascading over his face.

It was getting hot. Very hot. The flames had now grown dangerously high; licking the ceiling. 

When Sebastian tried to haul Victoriano to his feet, he brought his head back – smashing it into Sebastian’s face.

That did it.

Sebastian dropped all pretence of worrying about his suspect’s wellbeing and grabbed him, hammering his fist into his face repeatedly. Victoriano felt his nose crack as the knuckles connected, felt blood spurting down his front. Though dazed, he tried get away from Sebastian, tried to fight back, but his head was spinning. He could hear Laura screaming in the flames. Screaming. He threw his hands to his head and clutched, crying out in a panic as he dropped to his knees.

And all the while, the heated increased. And increased.

Sebastian could barely see, smoke was clouding out his vision. He struggled to breathe, the heat and smoke stopping him from getting enough air into his lungs. He was beginning to feel light headed.

Victoriano’s body suddenly went stiff and he fell backwards, his head thumping on the floor. He bit his tongue and blood began to trickle from his mouth. Sebastian didn’t know what was happening, but knew he had to get out of the basement as the hair on his arms were singed off.

Victoriano went into convulsions, his muscles jerking violently and his breathing ragged. Jesus, he was having a seizure. Sebastian stooped over him, unsure of what to do. Even in the smoky basement he could see that the man’s face had went blue.

Just as Sebastian considered leaving him, Victoriano’s shaking stopped and his eyes focused once more. He looked lost as he glanced around the burning basement before settling his eyes on Sebastian. He looked afraid.

Sebastian hauled him up, dragging him from the basement and outside before he went up in flames for the second time in his life. 

As he exited the mansion, Sebastian saw bright lights. Kidman’s backup had arrived; the Victoriano grounds were swarming with the KCPD. Two paramedics approached him and peeled Victoriano out of his grip, a third stepped up to Sebastian and grabbed his face, inspecting him.

“I’m fine,” he swatted them off, coughing into his hand. They tried to sit him down. “I said I’m fine.”

He climbed down the steps to stand by officer Connelly, who was rubbing Kidman’s back as she coughed violently into her hands. Her white shirt was stained black from the fire, and only then did Sebastian look down and notice the colour of himself.

“Thank God you’re alright,” Connelly looked up at him. “If it weren’t for Detective Kidman, we wouldn’t have thought to check here.”

Kidman glanced up and locked eyes with Sebastian. She had been aware of her senior Detectives distain for her, but never let it interfere with her work. Sebastian stared at her, then nodded curtly. “Thank you, Juli.”

She smiled at him.

They were both treated for smoke inhalation, but no serious damage had been done. The paramedics began to load a still unconscious Simeon Solano into an ambulance. 

“They both going to the hospital, Detective?” officer Connelly asked, looking concerned.

While Solano would certainly be needing medical attention, Victoriano seemed to have recovered from his seizure. He stood cuffed between two uniformed police officers, face bruised and swollen, looking completely out of it. No intimidation, no rage. Just a damaged man with a damaged mind.

“No,” Sebastian answered. He indicated Solano. “Just him. I want Victoriano in a cell as soon as possible.”

Connelly removed his hat to scratch his head. “I’ll take him.”

Sebastian knew Connelly was one of the finest drivers on the force, but still felt uneasy. He limped forward. His leg muscles were screaming at him. “I’m coming with you.”

“No, Detective,” Connelly held out a hand, worry creasing his face. “You’ve done enough. I’ll stick him in back,” he glanced at Victoriano, who was lost in the depths of his own mind, glazy eyed and confused. “He’s cuffed, I think I can handle it.”

Sebastian wanted to argue. He knew Connelly was insisting he butt out in order to lessen the amount of shit Sebastian was going to be in when Machlon got a hold of him. He watched silently as Connelly grabbed Victoriano’s arm and began to pull him toward his cruiser. Victoriano walked stiffly, as if every muscle in his body hurt, not resisting the officer’s touch.

Sebastian got into the back of Kidman’s car, lay down, and took a deep breath.

. . .

Joseph looked terrible.

He lay on his back with his head propped on a flat pillow, tubes and wires seeming to sprout from him. He had a bulky dressing on his side that extended round his stomach. His face was too pale and his too sunken. Grimaces twisted his face whenever he tried to speak, indicating just how much pain he was still in. 

Sebastian and Kidman were seated by his bedside; he had been given a private room. Sebastian knew the isolation probably got to his partner, but he knew that Yuina and Ami would be visiting every day.

“How are you feeling?” Sebastian asked, leaning on his knees.

“Better,” an obvious lie. Trying to keep the mood happy. “Thanks.”

“We got him,” Sebastian grinned. “Both of them.”

“Victoriano?” He nodded. “Your gut is proved right once again.”

Kidman smiled. “And saved his job.”

Joseph smiled too, then grimaced. “Did you get a name for the Krimson Ripper?”

“Simeon Solano,” said Kidman. “Former patient of Beacon Mental Hospital, not that that’s a surprise.”

“And Victoriano was the Elk River Killer all along?”

Kidman nodded.

“And Beacon’s still open for business,” Sebastian scowled. “Place is a fucking psychopaths haven.”

“Maybe,” Joseph tried to sit up, but failed. “At least the streets are safer now.”

Sebastian snorted. “So, when are you getting out?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. They’re being very vague about that.” Joseph swallowed. He had never liked hospitals. He had told Sebastian that as a boy he’d spent quite some time in a hospital after having his appendix removed. He’d retained a strong dislike for prolonged stays since. 

“Just stay and rest, you need it after that.”

“He got me good, huh?” Joseph grinned sheepishly. “He didn’t hurt Leslie, did he?”

“Nah, the kid’s fine.” Sebastian shook his head. “Stop worrying about others for once.”

Joseph laughed, then groaned, lifting his hands to the dressing covering him. “Force of habit.”

The three of them talked until the end of visiting hour, which arrived too soon for Sebastian. He needed to see Joseph well and talking long enough to erase the mental image of him curled on the floor and soaked in blood from his mind.  

He was never going to forget that.

That night at home, Sebastian flopped down onto his bust up old couch and sighed. He’d forgotten to buy cigarettes and he was all out. Fucking typical. Before he even sat up, his cell began to ring.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned and stood, pawing at his waistcoat for his phone. When that caller ID informed him it was the Captain, he frowned and answered. “Castellanos.”

“Sebastian,” Machlon sounded uneasy. “Where are you?”

“At home. Is everything alright, sir?”

“No. There’s been an accident,” he paused, then sighed heavily. “Oscar Connelly is dead.”

“What…?” Sebastian sucked air through his teeth, momentarily stunned. “My God … how?”

“A road accident,” Machlon said, the weight of the world in his tone. “There were no other vehicles involved, but Oscar didn’t make it.”

Sebastian glowered. No other vehicles? Connelly was a damn good driver, something wasn’t right. “What happened?”

“He was returning to the station and his car just seems to have … gone off the road. He hit something on the roadside and-“

“Wait,” Sebastian’s whole body went rigid. “He didn’t make it back to the station?”

“No, he-“

“What about Victoriano?”

Machlon grunted, unappreciative of being interrupted. “What about him?”

“Connelly was taking him to the station - he was _in_ that car with him.”

The captain didn’t answer right away. The silence reeked of dread. “The only body found in the car was Connelly’s.”

“ _What_?” Sebastian began to pace about the living room, his adrenaline picking up. “That son of a _bitch_ , where is he!?”

“Look, we’ll find him. The accident was bad. Very fucking bad. If he was in that car with Connelly, he didn’t get out unscratched. He couldn’t have gotten far.”

Sebastian was too angry to listen. He continued to pace, running his fingers through his hair. He grumbled in agreement with his captain and hung up, hurling his phone at the wall where it smashed into pieces. He punched his wall until his knuckles were bloody, then punched some more.

He had had The Elk River Killer – he’d had Victoriano. And he’d lost him.

. . .

Sebastian and Kidman spent the rest of the week dealing with the growing mountain of paperwork from the case, doing twelve hour days to make up for Josephs absence. Sebastian had just about overdosed on expresso by the time they finally wrapped things up as tightly as they could.

Simeon Solano’s lawyer was predictably entering in a plea of insanity. However, even if it was successful and Solano managed to avoid prison, he was still looking at life in a secure hospital. Either way, prison or hospital, the Krimson Ripper would die behind bars. Sebastian had looked over the man’s old file from Beacon and tried to force himself to feel sympathy, but with Joseph’s blood still staining his favourite coat, he found himself unable to achieve it.

When he dropped the bulky, finished paperwork onto Captain Machlon’s desk, Sebastian was promptly informed that he was now on ‘holiday’, effective immediately, and sent home.

He had no complaints.

. . .

_Two weeks later …_

Sebastian stumbled out of the car and swatted at the spilled coffee staining his jeans. They were old, worn, and grey-blue – now complete with coffee crotch.  

Kidman got out of the passenger side, still laughing, and grinned over the roof of the car. “Smooth, Sebastian.”

He made a face at her, tossing the empty coffee cup aside and grabbing the teddy bear from the back seat. Kidman joined him on their walk up to Joseph’s house with a bottle of wine in her hand. This was the first time all three of them had agreed to get together outside of work.

There had still been no sign of Victoriano.

It was constantly on the back of Sebastian’s mind. For once he had decided not to get drunk on his own in order to cope. When Joseph called to say he’d been released from the hospital, Sebastian instantly decided he and Juli should visit him. With alcohol. _Juli_. That’s what he’d been calling her since the case closed. She was no longer Kidman – unless he was in a mood.

Yuina opened the door and smiled. “Still on holiday?”

She welcomed Sebastian and Kidman inside, gratefully accepting the bottle of wine.

“That’s what happens when you punch a chief of medicine in the face.” Joseph appeared from the living-room, clad in a bathroom and checked pyjama bottoms. He was looking thin and gaunt, but happy to be home to recover.

Ami darted out from behind her father, black pigtails and frumpy lilac dress, and leapt into Sebastian’s arms. “Uncle Seb!” She squashed her face into his chest.

“Hey,” he squeezed her back and handed her the teddy bear, a warm smile spreading onto his face. Kidman had never seen him smile like that before. “How’ve you been, sweetheart?”

She hopped out of his arms, distracted by the teddy bear. “Good!”

Yuina excused herself to walk the dog, taking Ami with her to give the detectives some peace to talk. Joseph and Sebastian opened bottles of beer while Kidman poured herself a glass of red.

And they talked. Old times. Old cases. The case they just closed. Victoriano’s escape. Solano’s commitment. The could-have-beens and should-have-beens.

They simply enjoyed each other’s company, allowing their worries to melt away.

“So,” Kidman looked up from her wine glass, grinning. “When are you two coming back to work, then?”

Sebastian and Joseph looked at each other.

“Soon.” Said Sebastian.

He smiled at his partners, and downed his beer.


End file.
